


the looking glass

by frostmantle



Series: if you want my love [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Garlean Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Gen, Sexual tension ahoy, headcanons abound, headcanons about botany/alchemy, hurt/comfort if you squint hard enough i guess?, i wrote this instead of sleeping off the flu, it's witty banter that's all it is, nero is not having nero's shit actually if i'm honest, nero: a jackass even when half dead, sequelfic, spoilers for ARR, the warrior of light is not having any of nero's shit, what are feelings can i punch them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 06:12:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17259023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostmantle/pseuds/frostmantle
Summary: Nero discovers that awkward moment when saying sorry just isn't quite good enough.





	the looking glass

**Author's Note:**

> i'll write other things eventually but nero/warrior of light is like my favorite guilty pleasure ship in the game, so here we are (and yep, it's a follow-up to my previous fic here so if you want context you gotta go read that first ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) )
> 
> anyway, have some words

A storm had threatened for the bulk of the afternoon, and it was raining in earnest now, the sky open like a gushing waterfall. Aurelia Laskaris reined in her chocobo and squinted in vain against the watery haze. So heavy was the downpour that the only visible sight through all of the water were dark, vaguely ominous-looking shapes: the silhouettes of metal machinery that made up the decade-old wreckage of the _Agrius_. Interspersed with it all was the otherworldly glow of corrupted aether crystals some malms distant.

Her steed gave a soft, uneasy "kweh" and she patted the side of his neck in apology; he clearly was no more fond of the rain than Aurelia herself. At least back home she'd have known the weather pattern for sure given it was icy and frozen nine months out of the year, but Mor Dhona was in no wise the same (save that the weather was nearly always foul). Still, she preferred it to the Waking Sands. Usually.

The chocobo made his fretful noise again, impatient for her to snap the reins and let him have the run of the road back to Revenant's Toll. 

"At ease, Pollux. All is well." She rolled her staff off her back, conscious of the weight of the white mage's soul crystal beneath the reinforced Ironworks coat she wore. Gigas controlled the area around the lake, and she'd stopped to look for the source of the movement she'd spied off the road; with the lack of visibility one of them could well take her unawares. Aurelia swept one long leg over the saddle and dismounted, her feet crunching against the wet gravel. "I'll return anon."

She lifted the staff and eased aether into it, just enough to set the crystal on top alight. That helped slightly; some light refracted back from the droplets, but the faint glow it cast about her made it easier to see both the road and the ground--and there it was again, something moving in the wind and rain, all but hidden by a jagged chunk of cermet plating. Frowning, she ventured forth with slow, cautious steps. _Looks like a piece of heavy cloth,_ she thought.

A man's pained groan echoed from the same direction.

"Hello?" Aurelia called. No response.  
  
As she drew closer, the figure came fully within range of her staff's light. She could see the crook of a bent knee, and from there she could make out a familiar face. 

 _"_ Nero?" She dropped to her knees beside the engineer. Nero tol Scaeva was slumped semiconscious against a piece of hull, his coat laid open at the left forearm from wrist to elbow, the fine fabric soaked in a dark, spreading stain. He was bleeding heavily, crimson running in rivulets down his limp fingers to join the rainwater rushing down the slope of the hill towards Silvertear Lake. "Nero! Open your eyes!"

Very slowly, as if it were a gargantuan effort, his head lolled towards her and his eyes cracked open a fraction. His fair skin was the color of chalk. If she didn't act, he'd bleed out right here in the muck. Although it might have been one less liability to see the last of the XIVth Legion's tribunes ended for good, Aurelia couldn't make herself leave him to a slow death. There had been fully enough deaths on the Ascians' account.  
  
And for all their collective exasperation at the man's antics, he'd be missed by at least one person, though Cid would never admit it.

She concentrated upon the land around them, drawing from the wild aether of Mor Dhona to heal the worst of his hurts. Little by little, the bleeding slowed to a crawl, became but a trickle before it stopped entirely. She didn't dare do more than that for fear she'd exhaust herself and leave them both stranded and vulnerable in the wet and cold. Satisfied that he was no longer in any immediate danger, Aurelia exhaled and holstered her staff. 

"Can you stand at all?" Carefully she lifted his good arm and draped it over her shoulders, then drew one arm beneath the bulk of his fawn-colored coat to wrap securely about his waist. "We've got to get you out of this rain."

"Leave off, Warrior," he mumbled irritably. "I've suffered worse."

"Have you? A bell or so longer left to your own devices and we'd be asking Slafborn to dig a hole with a lovely view of the lake to drop you in." She let out a feminine grunt at the effort of lifting his weight, bracing her feet in the mud and one heel against the wreckage in case he lost his footing unexpectedly. "Up you go."

It took a few very long minutes of resting his weight against the rusting metal and cracked cermet, then helping him ease upwards on shaking legs before Nero was finally able to get his feet under him. He was worn out by the end of it, his breathing heavy and erratic from the slight exertion. Aurelia froze at the weight of his cheek on the crown of her head, even briefly---the gesture was innocent enough, she knew; he was barely able to stand upright even with assistance, but it hardly mattered. The visceral memory of a much more compromising position still caused heat to alight in her cheeks.

"Revenant's Toll isn't far," she said curtly. Best to ignore what had passed between them for now, and don the mantle of the Warrior of Light she was supposed to be. If she could treat him as just another person in need of her aid, remain all business and personal responsibility, 'twould best serve them both.

With that in mind, she tightened her grip on his waist and took the first step forward.

  
~*~

Unsurprisingly, the Domans who had taken residence at the Toll were able to see her coming well before anyone else was alerted to her presence. Hozan was able to help her with Pollux, and not a moment too soon, for Nero had all but rolled off the chocobo's back before Aurelia could catch him. It had taken their combined efforts to help him up the steep slope of the street and to the Garlond Ironworks' headquarters.

Thankfully it was not Cid who answered the door, but Biggs. The Roegadyn looked disheveled, covered in machine grease--likely they had interrupted him mid-project--but he had quickly ushered them in to provide shelter from the foul weather and hadn't asked questions, though he'd lifted a brow at her when she instructed him to put Nero in the upstairs back room she'd been using. Aurelia herself had no intention of staying, of course; she planned to see to Nero's wounds and then go to the Rising Stones, where she'd sleep on one of Y'shtola's reading couches. Simple, efficient, no fuss.

Explaining to Cid why Nero tol Scaeva suddenly occupied his spare sleeping quarters - again - was not going to be any of those things, but she refused to let herself think about that. As Yda would have said, that was a problem for future Aurelia.

And now, changed into dry clothing, her hair bound out of her face, she stood before the door to the room with a tray of supplies and a washbasin. Well, 'stood' was perhaps not the right word. More like 'dithered,' really. She was not anxious to be alone with Nero for a protracted amount of time, not after--

_Hells! Stop dancing about it. You can't avoid him forever so treat him as you would any other patient and have done with it._

Annoyed at her own hesitation, she finally shouldered the door open and let it smack against the wall on its hinges as she swept inside, startling the bed's occupant. The man sat bolt upright, then flinched, swearing sulfurously as the Warrior of Light kicked the door shut behind her with a single swift hook of her foot.

Nero's eyes fell upon her face as she lit a nearby ceruleum lamp, and his handsome features smoothed into a mask of careful neutrality. She'd had Biggs force him to take coffee and a simple meal (though apparently the engineer hadn't been able to convince their reluctant guest to change into different clothes). It had put some color back in his cheeks, but she could see the lingering weakness in the trembling of his arm as he pushed himself upwards into a seated position. 

"Eikon-slayer," he grunted. "To what, pray, might I owe the dubious pleasure of your presence?"

"I see that bleeding out in the rain has not improved your personality any more than it has your constitution," she answered, her tone acidic. "The pleasure is all yours, I'm certain."

One of those tawny eyebrows tilted upwards in an insolent arc. Aurelia immediately had to resist the nigh-overwhelming urge to rip it off his face. "That was most assuredly not the tune you were singing last we met."

He likes to get under your skin, Cid had said. _Well, I'm not going to let him bait me. Not this time._

"I assume," Nero continued, watching her set the small tray on the nearby nightstand, "that you are aware of the _marvelous_ invention known as a doorknob? If not, then 'twould serve you well to make its acquaintance. Provided, of course, that you have not gone so native as to have forsworn the basic courtesies of polite society along with running water."

"I am not come to be your evening entertainment. As such, I shall thank you to keep your observations to yourself." She yanked the desk chair from its moorings and dragged it to the bedside. "Sit up. Coat off, please."

"And here you said you weren't interested in touching me again," he retorted, but he was already awkwardly attempting to shrug the coat off his shoulders. Aurelia stared at him in growing consternation as the moments passed by, then with a heavy sigh reached over and began helping him roll the heavy fabric down his arms. She paused when he let out a sudden, pained hiss-- one that was not staged, if the chagrined expression that crossed his face was any indication.

"I healed the worst of your hurts. Have you others?"

"Some few minor injuries remain from our foray into the Crystal Tower." He shrugged with his good shoulder, but she could see the cold sweat banding across his brow as she helped him out of the weather-beaten coat. "...Naught that shall impede my swift departure from Revenant's Toll, rest assured. Both you and Garlond will be shut of me by cockcrow-- _what_ are you doing?"

She shoved him back against the headboard and began to unbutton the thin shirt he still wore. The fabric was damp from rain and stained beyond salvaging. Rusty stains splashed across the white cotton in uneven splotches. "Finishing what I started. Take the shirt off. You're removing all of these wet rags eventually if you expect to sleep in this bed tonight, else Jessie will have all our heads."

He unbuttoned the cuff and slid his arm carefully out of the sleeve, then flexed his elbow and raised his arm enough for her to examine his exposed torso. There was the remains of a deep, ugly bruise radiating out from a single point halfway betwixt shoulder and waist. She palpated it with gentle, searching fingers and he immediately jerked away from her touch.

"Fractured, but it's healing properly. I'd advise you sleep on your good side for another fortnight. I'd offer to wrap it, but it isn't necessary."

"I thought your Echo had granted you some facility with aether."

"Limited facility. Give me your arm."

"Am I to dance next?"

"Shall I simply leave this half-open wound of yours to fester?" she countered. "I'll be days gone down the road on some errand or other for the Scions when you succumb to blood poisoning. Eorzea shan't mourn another dead Garlean."

He opened his mouth to say something, but Aurelia did not budge, her gaze calm and unwavering. After a long moment, he extended his forearm again with a resigned sigh. "I sincerely hope you weren't a chirurgeon before you became an adventurer. You've the worst bedside manner I've ever encountered."

"You clearly never met any of the Academy's medical instructors. Don't flex." Carefully she examined the wound that had nearly killed him. It was deep, following a twisted path that began just at the outer edge of his left elbow and stopped about three ilms from the base of his wrist, and still seeped a thin, watery fluid as she carefully removed the soiled cloths around it. "You'll have full use once it heals, but that's going to leave a permanent scar."

"So long as I retain full use of the limb a scar hardly matters, does it?" Nero shrugged. "If you're so concerned, why not convince one of those Gridanian conjurers to come wiggle a leafy branch at me?"

"Because I'm not interested in seeing you hanged as a war criminal," she snapped, retrieving the hot water basin from the tray. "For reasons that frankly escape me just now."

"Might those 'reasons' be mine devilish good looks and irresistible charm?"

Scowling, she looked back at him, a retort ready on her lips--and faltered. He was grinning at her in a broad, boyish way that she found unexpectedly disarming. Every other time she'd dealt with him, he'd appeared some vague combination of bored, jaded, and haughty; even his amusement felt condescending. She could not deny Nero's fierce intellect, one that did in fact rival Cid Garlond's. Naturally he was full aware of it, which made it all the more galling. But he wasn't making a jest at her expense just now; he was only trying to banter with her.

Aurelia felt her cheeks come alight from embarrassed self-consciousness as those sharp eyes studied her face with a close and discomfiting scrutiny. Hastily she dropped her point of focus back to her preparations: she reached into the basin and removed the needle, then set both on the nightstand and lifted the tray, careful not to meet his gaze again as she reached for the unguent jar and a wooden spoon. "You can rest your arm here," she gestured at the tray, "while I stitch."

"I suppose it's too much to hope the Eorzeans might happen to have remedies at least _somewhat_ more technologically advanced than leeches."

"It depends where in Eorzea you are, but as it happens you're in luck. I've managed to recreate certain synthetic reagents using components from local flora and fauna." She put on a pair of thin linen gloves and twisted the lid off a jar of ointment. "For a time I fancied I might become an apothecary."

"I see. And this substance of questionable origin you are about to foist upon me?"

"Made using the cnida of a jellyfish. The sting paralyzes their prey in the wild, but it also proves a useful local anaesthetic when suturing wounds." She felt him startle at the chill of the substance on his skin as she applied it. "I realize these are hardly the creature comforts to which you're accustomed, but if one does not have what one needs, one must improvise."

"I would not have expected you to be able to 'improvise' treatments like these."

"One might almost think you impressed." She eyed her work critically. Too much and he'd lose sensation in the whole limb for a time, rendering it useless; too little and he'd feel every stitch. "You should have a care, Nero, else I might start to believe you are not entirely serious in your professed distaste for me."

"I _am_ impressed, Warrior. One does not expect itinerant sellswords to possess the intellectual capacity for such exacting skills. This implies at least a modicum of formal tr-- _ow_."

"Two more minutes," she said, removing the needle she'd poked into his flesh perhaps a touch forcefully, "before the ointment has taken effect, and then this _itinerant sellsword_  can commence her work."

"I am attempting to make conversation, Warrior of Light. Would you prefer I simply be your silent patient?"

"I would not take it amiss."

There was no response. When she spared a glance upwards it was to see him staring at the ceiling rafters without blinking, carefully and resolutely not looking at her. So he'd decided to grant her wish--out of pique, no doubt. Aurelia shrugged and busied herself with threading her needle. Once she had judged the appropriate amount of time to have passed, she grasped his wrist, gently tilted it up and out, and began to suture the cut. He didn't react, so she surmised the anaesthetic had done its work. Silence stretched for one minute, then two, then beyond as the pair avoided looking at each other.

She was granted precisely thirty more seconds of peace before he said: "In case it was unclear, I thought to apologize to you."

"Hm?" The subdued note in his voice caught her attention, but she only allowed herself the most minute of pauses before continuing with her work; loose sutures risked pulling.

"I am rarely wont to regret my actions. That said, even I am capable of missteps." Now she could hear the sharp edges in his voice, the long pauses, the way the words came cold and stiff off his lips. "...I said some things the other night that, in retrospect, do reflect rather poorly upon me."

"You were a royal arse," Aurelia said bluntly. "A right pillock. Do you expect me to applaud your selflessness in meeting utterly minimal standards for basic decency?"

"The sarcasm is _hardly_ necessary."

"Then let mine anger be a lesson in future not to degrade a woman after you've tumbled her, should you ever care to repeat the experience!" She froze in place even as the words left her mouth to echo aloud in Cid Garlond's spare room. After yet another silence that seemed to stretch into years, she took a deep breath and continued.

"I already told you I've no intention of touching you again. Medical attention does not count."

"Of course not."

"I am acting in a wholly professional capacity."

"Naturally."

He was giving her that infuriatingly smug grin of his, the one he usually reserved for getting one up on Cid. She scowled. "Do you want me to finish or don't you?" 

"By all means. Methinks I shall continue to enjoy the view from above."

"And methinks I should show you the other side of the bloody cupola window, if 'tis the _view_ that concerns you--" She broke off at the soft noise she heard erupting from his chest, and her glare faded into wide-eyed concern. He was grimacing, one hand clutching at his side, his shoulders shaking. "Bugger! Your ribs, I forgot... are you _laughing_?"

Nero leaned back against the headboard, the pained expression giving way to a genuine smile and the chuckles to loud, genuine laughter. The expression he wore was, strangely, almost affectionate. "You are far too concerned with mine welfare for me to take such threats seriously, be they defenestration or otherwise."

She yanked as hard on the needle and thread as she dared, ignoring his startled yelp, and busied herself over the last few stitches, trying in vain to ignore the burn in her cheeks. _Men!_ A pox on all of them!

"...Did you mean it?" he asked, after a few minutes of watching her work.

"Mean what?"

"That bit earlier," he said. "In regards to 'repeating the experience', as you put it."

Her hands shook slightly as she formed a knot in the thread on the last stitch to hold it in place, then snipped it with the shears on the tray. "Mayhap you think me soft, Nero, but I am no masochist. And I am no fool." She inhaled once, twice, then dipped a washcloth in the basin of hot water and wrung it out once she was certain she had retained her composure. 

"Should you believe otherwise, my apology was sincerely meant."

"Your apology is accepted, but any man who would ridicule a woman for doing aught that he would have done is a man deserving of neither my body, nor what little spare time I have. And he will continue to be undeserving, until such time as he can provably show he has the ability to consider someone--or something--beyond himself." She continued to run the wet cloth over his arm, removing encrusted blood and ointment and dropping the used cloth on the tray. "That is your answer."

To her surprise, Nero didn't argue. His smile was gone, but he nodded, slowly, in acknowledgement. 

She snapped the gloves off her hands, tossed them alongside the ointment jar and the other used cloths, and reached over to take the tray. One of his hands covered hers, giving her pause. Aurelia frowned at it, then cast her gaze to its owner and the expression he wore--she couldn't read it, this look that was neither sad nor angry but something else entirely. This time, however, Nero was the first to look away, though his touch lingered, callused fingers bracing the circumference of her wrist, thumb tracing idle patterns on her skin. 

"You have my thanks for your aid, Warrior of Light," he said at length. She had never seen him so serious before.

Aurelia tugged her hand free and quit the room without a word, anxious to put space between them once again.

 

~*~

  
By sunrise the next morning, the spare upstairs quarters lay empty. The only sign of its previous occupant was the small piece of paper that laid on the pillow. The contents within: a pressed and carefully preserved sprig of Althyk lavender, and were anyone to read it, a brace of short sentences in a cramped, neat hand.

_Consider this a promise. I shall return. --N._

Cid Garlond shook his head with a puzzled frown and laid the scrap aside, his annoyance fading now that he knew the other man had taken his leave as promised. Doubtless this was a veiled threat of some sort, his old rival chasing down some obscure Allagan superweapon or the like, one with which he meant to torment the Ironworks once again. But the note was sufficiently oblique that knowing Nero, such a grandiose gesture could mean anything. The lavender bit, though--that was beyond him.

He'd keep an eye out, all the same. Gods only knew what Nero was up to _this_ time.


End file.
